servant-girl, living in Captain H------'s family. She comes daily to
make the beds in our part of the house, and exchanges a good-morning with
me, in a pleasant voice, and with a glance and smile,--somewhat shy,
because we are not acquainted, yet capable of being made conversable.
She washes once a week, and may be seen standing over her tub, with her
handkerchief somewhat displaced from her white neck, because it is hot.
Often she stands with her bare arms in the water, talking with
Mrs. H------, or looks through the window, perhaps, at B------, or
somebody else crossing the yard,--rather thoughtfully, but soon smiling
or laughing. Then goeth she for a pail of water. In the afternoon, very
probably, she dresses herself in silks, looking not only pretty, but
lady-like, and strolls round the house, not unconscious that some
gentleman may be staring at her from behind the green blinds. After
supper, she walks to the village. Morning and evening, she goes
a-milking. And thus passes her life, cheerfully, usefully, virtuously,
with hopes, doubtless, of a husband and children.--Mrs. H------ is a
particularly plump, soft-fleshed, fair-complexioned, comely woman enough,
with rather a simple countenance, not nearly so piquant as Nancy's. Her
walk has something of the roll or waddle of a fat woman, though it were
too much to call her fat. She seems to be a sociable body, probably
laughter-loving. Captain H------ himself has commanded a steamboat, and
has a certain knowledge of life.
Query, in relation to the man's missing wife, how much desire and
resolution of doing her duty by her husband can a wife retain, while
injuring him in what is deemed the most essential point?
Observation. The effect of morning sunshine on the wet grass, on sloping
and swelling land, between the spectator and the sun at some distance, as
across a lawn. It diffused a dim brilliancy over the whole surface of
the field. The mists, slow-rising farther off, part resting on the
earth, the remainder of the column already ascending so high that you
doubt whether to call it a fog or a cloud.
Friday, July 28th.--Saw my classmate and formerly intimate friend,
------, for the first time since we graduated. He has met with good
success in life, in spite of circumstance, having struggled upward
against bitter opposition, by the force of his own abilities, to be a
member of Congress, after having been for some time the leader of his
party in the State Legislature. We met like old friends, and conversed
almost as freely as we used to do in college days, twelve years ago and
more. He is a singular person, shrewd, crafty, insinuating, with
wonderful tact, seizing on each man by his manageable point, and using
him for his own purpose, often without the man's suspecting that he is
made a tool of; and yet, artificial as his character would seem to be,
his conversation, at least to myself, was full of natural feeling, the
expression of which can hardly be mistaken, and his revelations with
regard to himself had really a great deal of frankness. He spoke of his
ambition, of the obstacles which he had encountered, of the means by
which he had overcome them, imputing great efficacy to his personal
intercourse with people, and his study of their characters; then of his
course as a member of the Legislature and Speaker, and his style of
speaking and its effects; of the dishonorable things which had been
imputed to him, and in what manner he had repelled the charges. In
short, he would seem to have opened himself very freely as to his public
life. Then, as to his private affairs, he spoke of his marriage, of his
wife, his children, and told me, with tears in his eyes, of the death of
a dear little girl, and how it affected him, and how impossible it had
been for him to believe that she was really to die. A man of the most
open nature might well have been more reserved to a friend, after twelve
years' separation, than ------ was to me. Nevertheless, he is really a
crafty man, concealing, like a murder-secret, anything that it is not
good for him to have known. He by no means feigns the good-feeling that
he professes, nor is there anything affected in the frankness of his
conversation; and it is this that makes him so very fascinating. There
is such a quantity of truth and kindliness and warm affections, that a
man's heart opens to him, in spite of himself. He deceives by truth.
And not only is he crafty, but, when occasion demands, bold and fierce as
a tiger, determined, and even straightforward and undisguised in his
measures,--a daring fellow as well as a sly one. Yet, notwithstanding
his consummate art, the general estimate of his character seems to be
pretty just. Hardly anybody, probably, thinks him better than he is, and
many think him worse. Nevertheless, if no overwhelming discovery of
rascality be made, he will always possess influence; though I should
hardly think that he would take any prominent part in Congress. As to
any rascality, I rather believe that he has thought out for himself a
much higher system of morality than any natural integrity would have
prompted him to adopt; that he has seen the thorough advantage of
morality and honesty; and the sentiment of these qualities has now got
into his mind and spirit, and pretty well impregnated them. I believe
him to be about as honest as the great run of the world, with something
even approaching to high-mindedness. His person in some degree accords
with his character,--thin and with a thin face, sharp features, sallow, a
projecting brow not very high, deep-set eyes, an insinuating smile and
look, when he meets you, and is about to address you. I should think
that he would do away with this peculiar expression, for it reveals more
of himself than can be detected in any other way, in personal intercourse
with him. Upon the whole, I have quite a good liking for him, and mean
to go to--to see him.
Observation. A steam-engine across the river, which almost continually
during the day, and sometimes all night, may be heard puffing and
panting, as if it uttered groans for being compelled to labor in the heat
and sunshine, and when the world is asleep also.
Monday, July 31st.--Nothing remarkable to record. A child asleep in a
young lady's arms,--a little baby, two or three months old. Whenever
anything partially disturbed the child, as, for instance, when the young
lady or a bystander patted its cheek or rubbed its chin, the child would
smile; then all its dreams seemed to be of pleasure and happiness. At
first the smile was so faint, that I doubted whether it were really a
smile or no; but on further efforts, it brightened forth very decidedly.
This, without opening its eyes.--A constable, a homely, good-natured,
business-looking man, with a warrant against an Irishman's wife for
throwing a brickbat at a fellow. He gave good advice to the Irishman
about the best method of coming easiest through the affair. Finally
settled,--the justice agreeing to relinquish his fees, on condition that
the Irishman would pay for the mending of his old boots!
I went with Monsieur S------ yesterday to pick raspberries. He fell
through an old log bridge thrown over a hollow; looking back, only his
head and shoulders appeared through the rotten logs and among the
bushes.--A shower coming on, the rapid running of a little barefooted
boy, coming up unheard, and dashing swiftly past us, and showing the
soles of his naked feet as he ran adown the path, and up the opposite
rise.
Tuesday, August 1st.--There having been a heavy rain yesterday, a nest of
chimney-swallows was washed down the chimney into the fireplace of one of
the front rooms. My attention was drawn to them by a most obstreperous
twittering; and looking behind the fireboard, there were three young
birds, clinging with their feet against one of the jambs, looking at me,
open-mouthed, and all clamoring together, so as quite to fill the room
with the short, eager, frightened sound. The old birds, by certain signs
upon the floor of the room, appeared to have fallen victims to the
appetite of the cat. La belle Nancy provided a basket filled with
cotton-wool, into which the poor little devils were put; and I tried to
feed them with soaked bread, of which, however, they did not eat with
much relish. Tom, the Irish boy, gave it as his opinion that they were
not old enough to be weaned. I hung the basket out of the window, in the
sunshine, and upon looking in, an hour or two after, found that two of
the birds had escaped. The other I tried to feed, and sometimes, when a
morsel of bread was thrust into its open mouth, it would swallow it. But
it appeared to suffer very much, vociferating loudly when disturbed, and
panting, in a sluggish agony, with eyes closed, or half opened, when let
alone. It distressed me a good deal; and I felt relieved, though
somewhat shocked, when B------ put an end to its misery by squeezing its
head and throwing it out of the window. They were of a slate-color, and
might, I suppose, have been able to shift for themselves.--The other day
a little yellow bird flew into one of the empty rooms, of which there are
half a dozen on the lower floor, and could not find his way out again,
flying at the glass of the windows, instead of at the door, thumping his
head against the panes or against the ceiling. I drove him into the
entry and chased him from end to end, endeavoring to make him fly through
one of the open doors. He would fly at the circular light over the door,
clinging to the casement, sometimes alighting on one of the two glass
lamps, or on the cords that suspended them, uttering an affrighted and
melancholy cry whenever I came near and flapped my handkerchief, and
appearing quite tired and sinking into despair. At last he happened to
fly low enough to pass through the door, and immediately vanished into
the gladsome sunshine.--Ludicrous situation of a man, drawing his chaise
down a sloping bank, to wash in the river. The chaise got the better of
him, and, rushing downward as if it were possessed, compelled him to run
at full speed, and drove him up to his chin into the water. A singular
instance, that a chaise may run away with a man without a horse!
Saturday, August 12th.--Left Augusta a week ago this morning for ------.
Nothing particular in our drive across the country. Fellow-passenger a
Boston dry-goods dealer, travelling to collect bills. At many of the
country shops he would get out, and show his unwelcome visage. In the
tavern, prints from Scripture, varnished and on rollers,--such as the
Judgment of Christ; also a droll set of colored engravings of the story
of the Prodigal Son, the figures being clad in modern costume,--or, at
least, that of not more than half a century ago. The father, a grave,
clerical person, with a white wig and black broadcloth suit; the son,
with a cocked hat and laced clothes, drinking wine out of a glass, and
caressing a woman in fashionable dress. At ------ a nice, comfortable
boarding-house tavern, without a bar or any sort of wines or spirits. An
old lady from Boston, with her three daughters, one of whom was teaching
music, and the other two schoolmistresses. A frank, free, mirthful
daughter of the landlady, about twenty-four years old, between whom and
myself there immediately sprang up a flirtation, which made us both feel
rather melancholy when we parted on Tuesday morning. Music in the
evening, with a song by a rather pretty, fantastic little mischief of a
brunette, about eighteen years old, who has married within a year, and
spent the last summer in a trip to the Springs and elsewhere. Her manner
of walking is by jerks, with a quiver, as if she were made of calves-feet
jelly. I talk with everybody: to Mrs. T------ good sense,--to Mary, good
sense, with a mixture of fun,--to Mrs. G------, sentiment, romance, and
nonsense.
Walked with ------ to see General Knox's old mansion,--a large,
rusty-looking edifice of wood, with some grandeur in the architecture,
standing on the banks of the river, close by the site of an old
burial-ground, and near where an ancient fort had been erected for
defence against the French and Indians. General Knox once owned a square
of thirty miles in this part of the country, and he wished to settle it
with a tenantry, after the fashion of English gentlemen. He would permit
no edifice to be erected within a certain distance of his mansion. His
patent covered, of course, the whole present town of Waldoborough and
divers other flourishing commercial and country villages, and would have
been of incalculable value could it have remained unbroken to the present
time. But the General lived in grand style, and received throngs of
visitors from foreign parts, and was obliged to part with large tracts of
his possessions, till now there is little left but the ruinous mansion
and the ground immediately around it. His tomb stands near the house,--a
spacious receptacle, an iron door at the end of a turf-covered mound, and
surmounted by an obelisk of marble. There are inscriptions to the memory
of several of his family; for he had many children, all of whom are now
dead, except one daughter, a widow of fifty, recently married to Hon.
John H------. There is a stone fence round the monument. On the outside
of this are the gravestones, and large, flat tombstones of the ancient
burial-ground,--the tombstones being of red freestone, with vacant
spaces, formerly inlaid with slate, on which were the inscriptions, and
perhaps coats-of-arms. One of these spaces was in the shape of a heart.
The people were very wrathful that the General should have laid out his
grounds over this old burial-place; and he dared never throw down the
gravestones, though his wife, a haughty English lady, often teased him to
do so. But when the old General was dead, Lady Knox (as they called her)
caused them to be prostrated, as they now lie. She was a woman of
violent passions, and so proud an aristocrat, that, as long as she lived,
she would never enter any house in the town except her own. When a
married daughter was ill, she used to go in her carriage to the door, and
send up to inquire how she did. The General was personally very popular;
but his wife ruled him. The house and its vicinity, and the whole tract
covered by Knox's patent, may be taken as an illustration of what must be
the result of American schemes of aristocracy. It is not forty years
since this house was built, and Knox was in his glory; but now the house
is all in decay, while within a stone's-throw of it there is a street of
smart white edifices of one and two stories, occupied chiefly by thriving
mechanics, which has been laid out where Knox meant to have forests and
parks. On the banks of the river, where he intended to have only one
wharf for his own West Indian vessels and yacht, there are two wharves,
with stores and a lime kiln. Little appertains to the mansion except the
tomb and the old burial-ground, and the old fort.
The descendants are all poor, and the inheritance was merely sufficient
to make a dissipated and drunken fellow of the only one of the old
General's sons who survived to middle age. The man's habits were as bad
as possible as long as he had any money; but when quite ruined, he
reformed. The daughter, the only survivor among Knox's children (herself
childless), is a mild, amiable woman, therein totally differing from her
mother. Knox, when he first visited his estate, arriving in a vessel,
was waited upon by a deputation of the squatters, who had resolved to
resist him to the death. He received them with genial courtesy, made
them dine with him aboard the vessel, and sent them back to their
constituents in great love and admiration of him. He used to have a
vessel running to Philadelphia, I think, and bringing him all sorts of
delicacies. His way of raising money was to give a mortgage on his
estate of a hundred thousand dollars at a time, and receive that nominal
amount in goods, which he would immediately sell at auction for perhaps
thirty thousand. He died by a chicken-bone. Near the house are the
remains of a covered way, by which the French once attempted to gain
admittance into the fort; but the work caved in and buried a good many of
them, and the rest gave up the siege. There was recently an old
inhabitant living who remembered when the people used to reside in the
fort.
Owl's Head,--a watering-place, terminating a point of land, six or seven
miles from Thomaston. A long island shuts out the prospect of the sea.
Hither coasters and fishing-smacks run in when a storm is anticipated.
Two fat landlords, both young men, with something of a contrast in their
dispositions; one of them being a brisk, lively, active, jesting, fat
man; the other more heavy and inert, making jests sluggishly, if at all.
Aboard the steamboat, Professor Stuart of Andover, sitting on a sofa in
the saloon, generally in conversation with some person, resolving their
doubts on one point or another, speaking in a very audible voice; and
strangers standing or sitting around to hear him, as if he were an
ancient apostle or philosopher. He is a bulky man, with a large, massive
face, particularly calm in its expression, and mild enough to be
pleasing. When not otherwise occupied, he reads, without much notice of
what is going on around him. He speaks without effort, yet thoughtfully.
We got lost in a fog the morning after leaving Owl's Head. Fired a brass
cannon, rang bell, blew steam, like a whale snorting. After one of the
reports of the cannon, we heard a horn blown at no great distance, the
sound coming soon after the report. Doubtful whether it came from the
shore or a vessel. Continued our ringing and snorting; and by and by
something was seen to mingle with the fog that obscured everything beyond
fifty yards from us. At first it seemed only like a denser wreath of
fog; it darkened still more, till it took the aspect of sails; then the
hull of a small schooner came beating down towards us, the wind laying
her over towards us, so that her gunwale was almost in the water, and we
could see the whole of her sloping deck.
"Schooner ahoy!" say we. "Halloo! Have you seen Boston Light this
morning?"
"Yes; it bears north-northwest, two miles distant."
"Very much obliged to you," cries our captain.
So the schooner vanishes into the mist behind. We get up our steam, and
soon enter the harbor, meeting vessels of every rig; and the fog,
clearing away, shows a cloudy sky. Aboard, an old one-eyed sailor, who
had lost one of his feet, and had walked on the stump from Eastport to
Bangor, thereby making a shocking ulcer.
Penobscot Bay is full of islands, close to which the steamboat is
continually passing. Some are large, with portions of forest and
portions of cleared land; some are mere rocks, with a little green or
none, and inhabited by sea-birds, which fly and flap about hoarsely.
Their eggs may be gathered by the bushel, and are good to eat. Other
islands have one house and barn on them, this sole family being lords and
rulers of all the land which the sea girds. The owner of such an island
must have a peculiar sense of property and lordship; he must feel more
like his own master and his own man than other people can. Other
islands, perhaps high, precipitous, black bluffs, are crowned with a
white lighthouse, whence, as evening comes on, twinkles a star across the
melancholy deep,--seen by vessels coming on the coast, seen from the
mainland, seen from island to island. Darkness descending, and, looking
down at the broad wake left by the wheels of the steamboat, we may see
sparkles of sea-fire glittering through the gloom.
Salem, August 22d.--A walk yesterday afternoon down to the Juniper and
Winter Island. Singular effect of partial sunshine, the sky being
broadly and heavily clouded, and land and sea, in consequence, being
generally overspread with a sombre gloom. But the sunshine, somehow or
other, found its way between the interstices of the clouds, and
illuminated some of the distant objects very vividly. The white sails of
a ship caught it, and gleamed brilliant as sunny snow, the hull being
scarcely visible, and the sea around dark; other smaller vessels too, so
that they looked like heavenly-winged things, just alighting on a dismal
world. Shifting their sails, perhaps, or going on another tack, they
almost disappear at once in the obscure distance. Islands are seen in
summer sunshine and green glory; their rocks also sunny and their beaches
white; while other islands, for no apparent reason, are in deep shade,
and share the gloom of the rest of the world. Sometimes part of an
island is illuminated and part dark. When the sunshine falls on a very
distant island, nearer ones being in shade, it seems greatly to extend
the bounds of visible space, and put the horizon to a farther distance.
The sea roughly rushing against the shore, and dashing against the rocks,
and grating back over the sands. A boat a little way from the shore,
tossing and swinging at anchor. Beach birds flitting from place to
place.
The family seat of the Hawthornes is Wigcastle, Wigton, Wiltshire. The
present head of the family, now residing there, is Hugh Hawthorne.
William Hawthorne, who came over in 1635-36, was a younger brother of the
family.
A young man and girl meet together, each in search of a person to be
known by some particular sign. They watch and wait a great while for
that person to pass. At last some casual circumstance discloses that
each is the one that the other is waiting for. Moral,--that what we need
for our happiness is often close at hand, if we knew but how to seek for
it.
The journal of a human heart for a single day in ordinary circumstances.
The lights and shadows that flit across it; its internal vicissitudes.
Distrust to be thus exemplified:--Various good and desirable things to be
presented to a young man, and offered to his acceptance,--as a friend, a
wife, a fortune; but he to refuse them all, suspecting that it is merely
a delusion. Yet all to be real, and he to be told so, when too late.
A man tries to be happy in love; he cannot sincerely give his heart, and
the affair seems all a dream. In domestic life, the same; in politics, a
seeming patriot; but still he is sincere, and all seems like a theatre.
An old man, on a summer day, sits on a hill-top, or on the observatory of
his house, and sees the sun's light pass from one object to another
connected with the events of his past life,--as the school-house, the
place where his wife lived in her maidenhood,--its setting beams falling
on the churchyard.
An idle man's pleasures and occupations and thoughts during a day spent
by the sea-shore: among them, that of sitting on the top of a cliff, and
throwing stones at his own shadow, far below.
A blind man to set forth on a walk through ways unknown to him, and to
trust to the guidance of anybody who will take the trouble; the different
characters who would undertake it: some mischievous, some well-meaning,
but incapable; perhaps one blind man undertakes to lead another. At
last, possibly, he rejects all guidance, and blunders on by himself.